


Working Order

by FancyMeetingYouHere



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, Soft Boys, oblivious boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26953807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyMeetingYouHere/pseuds/FancyMeetingYouHere
Summary: Coffee with a side of romance. Except that no one drinks coffee, and Mark is much too busy misreading Jackson's relationship status for there to be much romance, but they get there in the end.
Relationships: Mark Tuan/Jackson Wang
Comments: 17
Kudos: 92





	Working Order

**Author's Note:**

> Because soft shit is my jam and I've had this one lying around for a while. Let me know what you think and have a healthy, happy day!

Being kind and polite to customers isn’t particularly hard for Mark, though some of the people he’s had to serve in his past four years as a barista were much too sleep-deprived and caffeine addicted for even him to stay cheerful, but it’s made so much easier when the customer is someone like the person currently stepping up to the counter.

Mark spotted him the second he walked in, eyes drawn to the soft, light-blue sweater, casual jeans, and the gorgeous face above it all. The man has a shoulder bag and his eyes are glued to the menu above the counter as he slowly shuffles forward, him being the only customer in to order at the moment. It’s endearing how he mouths the words on the menu to himself, brow lightly furrowed, though Mark does his best not to stare. Whether he succeeds is a whole different matter.

He gives the man another few seconds to make up his mind, and himself a bit more time to grin at the soft, brown bangs brushing the man’s eyebrows, before he steps up and gives his best smile, quickly hiding his teeth when the man is visibly startled. The other does an adorable little hop, blinking fast as if surprised someone came to take his order. Mark forces himself to keep his smile polite.

“Do you know what you want?” he says pleasantly, wanting more than anything to make the other feel comfortable. The man blushes to Mark’s intense amusement.

“Heh, right, that was probably really obvious,” he gives Mark a tight-lipped smile that’s a bit too brilliant to respond to beyond a nod. The man luckily doesn’t seem to mind. “I’ll have a large orange juice and a strawberry milk,” he decides after another quick glance, already taking his wallet out of his back pocket. Mark can appreciate the sleeves sliding down to reveal the top of strong arms as he rings it all up, years of experience finally coming in handy. He gives the customer another smile.

“For here, or take-away?”

“Here,” he answers a little distractedly, then quickly flashes a smile up while still tugging money out of his wallet. It’s disappointing that Mark can’t casually ask for his name now, but then the man is ordering for two and is way too cute to still be single. Oh well.

Mark gives him his softest smile anyway, finding the long sleeves and intense concentration given to the simple act of gathering enough money together to be impossibly adorable. Whoever this man is meeting here, they better know their partner is quite possibly the most gorgeous man Mark has seen in this shop all year.

The man pays with a grateful nod, then seems a little unsure as he turns in place, eyes flitting between Mark and the dozen or so empty tables. His confused face causes Mark to giggle.

“You can sit down,” he tells him, pointing at the shop in general, still smiling. “I’ll bring it over.”

The man nods gratefully, his ears turning red as he quickly grabs a table near the window on the left. Mark, though he knows he doesn’t really have a chance, still stares a little longer than he usually would, then turns around to make the orders with a smile lingering on his face.

He’s proven right when the door jingles while he’s turned, another man sitting in the second seat as he walks out to deliver the order. If this is cute guy’s type, then Mark probably never even registered. He shakes the melancholy off, the first to admit that the newcomer is insanely handsome with his longer black hair and nose-piercing, a soft smile on his face as cute guy speaks in animated tones. He stops abruptly when Mark puts down the drinks, cheeks red.

Mark flashes them an apologetic smile. “Enjoy, okay?”

They both nod, Mark scurrying back to the counter with a hidden groan. Time to stop fantasizing about the hot customers who do not need some whacky barista third wheeling on their date. It takes effort to not look over every two minutes, snippets of conversation flowing over, mostly small anecdotes about college life and some names, and in one glorious occasion, the most addictive laugh Mark has ever heard in his life. He’s somewhat annoyed to turn around and see it’s indeed the cute guy who’s giggling in his seat, half-hidden hands thrown in front of his mouth as he shakily apologizes to the other patrons with a smile.

As if the man wasn’t adorable enough before. Mark sort of hates how perfect this guy is.

Luckily, about twenty minutes later, the customers start to pick up again and he’s kept much too busy with orders to even attempt to eavesdrop. Not that he’d been anywhere close to doing that before. Not at all.

* * *

The next time the cute guy walks in there’s more of a crowd. It’s only just after morning rush-hour on a Monday, Mark manning the register while Yugyeom’s in charge of making the drinks. Whenever the orders get a little too much for just Yugyeom to handle, Mark steps in for a minute or two, knowing the younger long enough to know he’s good at his job, but not superhuman.

Honestly, Mark knows Yugyeom a little too well, and vice versa. A fact proven when cute guy steps up and Yugyeom is already smirking at Mark simply because the older sort of fumbled the cup in his hands when he saw the man from a few days before.

The younger sneakily hits Mark’s butt as he walks back to the register, a muffled witch-cackle sounding right after. Mark _will_ get him back for that, but not now.

He smiles at the man, sighing on the inside because this guy really rocks the whole soft-sweater-and-jeans combo. His hair is once again down and over his forehead, eyes smiling as the corners of his mouth turn up.

“Hey,” the man says, a little surprised, and Mark secretly hopes it’s because he remembers him.

“Hey, yourself,” he winks at him, loving the flustered look he gets in return. It’s all in good fun, knowing the other is simply taken aback by the unusual response. I mean, the guy’s dating a god with a nose-piercing! There’s no way Mark’s messy, dark hair and his penchant for baggy pants and jeans jackets can compete with that. The flirting comes easily _because_ Mark knows it won’t go anywhere anyway, and this man is simply too gorgeous not to do it. Besides, the other recovers fast, ducking his face with a smile as he fishes his wallet out. Mark once again coos on the inside. This man must receive dozens of compliments a day but he’s still shy.

Mark _really_ hates how perfect he is.

“I’ll uhm- a medium orange juice, please,” the man stumbles over his words, already holding out the money.

Mark can’t help himself and he grins. “No strawberry milk today?”

The man colors, his mouth agape, wide eyes staring at Mark. Then he catches himself and licks his lips with a nervous giggle.

_Definitely too cute._

Mark gives him another wink to assure it’s all in jest and he _knows_. He’s not about to mess around with guys in a relationship. “One orange juice, coming up,” he plucks the money out of his hand, then smiles as he realizes he’ll finally get to ask without being weird.

“Your name?”

The man blinks, confused, and Mark nods at the row in front of him, waiting for their orders. “I can’t bring it out today,” he explains, “so you’ll have to pick it up.” He holds the marker and a clear cup in his hands expectantly, giving the man his puppy dog eyes. (He perfected them with some help from Yugyeom.) “Please?”

The man snorts, shaking his head silently with a small smile. “It’s Jackson.”

“It’ll be right out,” Mark nods him along, unable to completely wipe a smug look off his face. He only barely resists adding a heart to the name. _Don’t_ , he silently scolds himself. _The man is very much taken and you’re obviously not his type._

* * *

The more Mark sees Jackson, the more he starts to wish he was. After those first encounters, the man comes back more and more often, clearly in love with their orange juice and other fruity drinks, bringing friends with him more often than not. From what Mark’s seen so far (he observes, he does not stare, thank you very much), his initial analysis of Jackson needs some tweaking.

The man is the sweetest being in existence, has a heart of gold, and loves puppies and little kids. Mark sort of wants to say he’d die for the man, but has been told by a wildly cackling Yugyeom that it’s a bit melodramatic. Whatever.

It’s not like he’s just saying this because Jackson’s good-looking. (Which he is. Very much so. Mark could stare at him for hours and never tire of the large eyes that go soft and crescent shaped when he smiles, or the simply heartache inducing smile Jackson falls into seemingly unconsciously.) After many hours of careful observation, Mark has come to the irrefutable conclusion that Jackson must be protected at all cost. And that he’d really like to kiss the man and hold his hand, but that’s a whole different thing.

Anyways, yes: Jackson is a national treasure.

The deciding factor in this was a man named Jinyoung. (Jackson has a habit of introducing all his friends, which is how Mark found out that Jaebeom is his competition … but not really. It’s hard to hate Jackson’s partner because the guy is always calm and smiling, which is just annoying. If you’re going to date someone like Jackson, the least you can do is be a general asshole to everyone else. There shouldn’t be this much perfection in one relationship.

Jackson had literally introduced him as. “This is Jaebeom, remember him?”

To which Mark had nodded politely. It was obvious from Jaebeom’s low groan and Jackson’s proud look that people tend to remember Jaebeom wherever they go, and the guy had apologized for Jackson’s behavior. Which, again, _rude_.

Mark was trying very hard to hate him, and the guy turns out to be super nice. Ugh.)

But yes, Jinyoung comes along as number three _and_ four (a guy named BamBam grinning at Mark silently from behind orange tinted glasses as number two) and the second time he’s not alone. A small child, no older than five, skips along beside him, tiny hand wrapped tightly around Jinyoung’s fingers. What really makes Mark’s heart skip a few beats is Jackson walking on the other side, holding the other tiny hand and smiling down with the softest expression known to man.

Mark needs a moment.

He’s gathered himself enough to greet them with a smile as they reach the register. Jackson hitches a large paper bag higher up his shoulder, beaming at Mark with a radiant smile. “Good morning!”

Mark needs _another_ moment.

“Hey,” he manages after an awkward two seconds which Jackson doesn’t pay any attention to. The man winks at him and Mark flounders in his skin, unaware they were actually continuing this whole fake-flirting thing, but then Jackson starts talking with a very over-the-top tone, flicking his eyes down at the child Mark can barely spot. The boy is tiny.

“Do you have any ice-cream?” Jackson says loudly, then quickly mouths the word ‘no’ at Mark, throwing him a pleading look.

Mark’s still trying to get his breath back from three consecutive Jackson-hits and dazedly opens his mouth. “No,” he says a little hesitantly, fully aware there’s an ice cream machine filled with four different flavors only three steps behind him.

Jackson winks again with a smile, then gasps in mock-outrage in complete unison with a small whine coming from the boy. Mark is still spectacularly confused, and the distraction of Jackson’s pink hoodie matching perfectly with the man’s light-colored jeans jacket isn’t helping in the slightest.

“They don’t have ice cream?” a tiny voice says in a wobbly tone, and Mark is hit with the full power of a five-year-old’s pout when Jinyoung reaches down to hoist the child onto his hip. The man sighs, sadly shaking his head.

“I’m afraid a terrible ice-cream thief has been plaguing the city,” Jinyoung says gravely, the kid gaping at him. “There’s no more ice-cream left.”

The boy bites his lip, blinking innocently at Mark. “There’s nothing?”

Jackson’s making small though pleading hand movements for Mark to go along with their ridiculous story, and Mark’s finally able to activate his brain enough to do so.

“I’m sorry,” he tells the child with his hands up in an overdone shrug. “He took everything.”

Jackson turns to the side, away from the once again pouting boy, as a fierce grin splits his face. His joy makes it almost impossible for Mark to keep his face somber which Jinyoung luckily picks up on. He bounces the boy on his hip, adding in a secretive voice.

“But there’s a way to get it back.”

The boy jumps in surprise, wide eyes focused on Jinyoung in rapt attention. “What is it!”

Jinyoung leans in a little closer, almost nose to nose with his little charge. “They say that if a birthday boy makes a wish, a real, _true_ wish, to bring all the ice cream back, then the thief will return it.”

The boy is already closing his eyes, hands pressed together in a pleading gesture. It’s all starting to make sense and Mark muffles his sniggers by biting his bottom lip just as Jackson turns back and makes some silent motions with his hand. Mark quirks an eyebrow at him. The other points at the ice-machine again, miming the action of making an ice cream. ‘Be surprised’ he mouths, then pleads just like the boy.

Jinyoung eyes him too, hiding a smile behind one hand.

Mark rolls his eyes at both of them, trying to hide his nerves with baseless bravado. He’s horrible at acting, but how is he supposed to say no to Jackson pouting in a pink sweater? Lord help him.

He holds up a thumb, agreeing with this weird subterfuge. The resulting smile from Jackson makes it worth it.

“Are you wishing _really_ hard, Youngjae-ah?” Jinyoung says. “With all of your might?”

The little boy, now identified as Youngjae, scrunches his eyes more, pressing his hands harder together. “Please, please,” he whispers, “please, bring the ice-cream back.”

This time, Mark has to turn away to snigger in private, Youngjae honestly too cute in all his pleading glory. He pushes the smile back down and breathes in deep, turning back with a grave expression. Jackson gives him another wink, almost destroying his focus.

Then Youngjae peeks out of his eyes. “Did it work?”

“Mhmm,” Jinyoung bounces Youngjae some more, eliciting a string of giggles. “We’ll have to see.” He turns to Mark. “Can we please get an ice-cream?”

“Vanilla!” Youngjae pipes up. “Please!”

Mark plays along as best he can, aware he’s doing it for Jackson as much as he is the little kid. “I’ll try,” he says with a large sigh, drooping his shoulders. Youngjae promptly closes his eyes again, hands pressing together until they’re shaking.

The sight causes a giggle so fierce, Mark doubles trying to hold it in. He peeks at Jackson, seeing nothing but the other’s shaking back as the man is currently fighting his own bout of laughter. Jinyoung is the only one still holding his composure, though his lips threaten to break out into a smile.

When he’s sure he won’t break their cover, Mark straightens up and beelines to the ice machine, snatching a cup as he goes. He’s not sure how much longer he can keep this up. With another quick look back, and seeing both Jackson and Jinyoung give him a nod, he pulls down the lever, letting out a surprised shout when the ice cream gathers in the cup as he twirls it. “It’s back!”

A high-pitched cheer from behind has him smiling from ear to ear, Jackson’s shout quickly mingling with Youngjae’s enthusiasm. Upon turning around, ice cream triumphantly in hand, Youngjae is still throwing his arms in the air, giggles filling the restaurant as Jackson and Jinyoung laugh with him.

Mark hadn’t been prepared and he stares a little too long, stares a little too much at the way Jackson’s laugh takes over his face, how he lights up and attacks Youngjae’s side with wiggling fingers. It’s breathtaking.

“You saved us all!” Jackson giggles at Youngjae, his hands no longer attacking but patting his head. “The ice-cream is back!”

Youngjae cheers again, only too happily taking his cold treat from Mark. He hands it over with a frozen smile. His shyness is starting to rear its head around Jackson which is hardly a good sign. The last thing he needs is a crush on the man.

They all order ice-cream, Jackson another vanilla and Jinyoung opting for chocolate. Within minutes they’re sitting at a table, Youngjae’s giggles floating over every now and again, especially when Jackson hands him the paper bag and unearths a giant fluffy dog.

Jackson ends up hugging the stuffed animal for most of their ice-cream lunch, a sight so enticing Mark develops a sore neck from staring at the left all the time. He messes up at least three orders and has to keep apologizing, but at the end of the day, when he goes home with the image of Jackson smiling his dimpled smile, hunched in on himself while hugging the fluffy dog imprinted on his brain, Mark can’t care less.

He’s never slept more sound than he does that night.

* * *

So, yeah … Mark has a crush.

It was just a headache when he woke up, but now it’s full-fledged pounding on his skull while shivers run down his arms and legs. An impossible fatigue is dogging his steps, brain fuzzy and slow. He knows he should have left already, should have just asked for some time off to ride out whatever bug he caught, but he hasn’t seen Jackson yet today.

It's Thursday. Jackson hasn’t missed a Thursday since the very first Thursday he walked in. Coincidentally, Mark hasn’t either, and despite his brain simply groaning at him in endless annoyance because Jackson is taken you nut, what the heck do you think you’ll accomplish besides fainting from your fever (which he has, a pretty nice one by the feel of it), Mark stays standing behind the register, smiling at customers and leaning on the counter when his legs become too much like jelly because _he hasn’t seen Jackson yet today._

He’s full on crushing, though the brilliant thing about his fever is that he’s much too far gone to properly care. That’s a win for dangerously high temperatures.

Luckily, there’s no one else on the register right now, not after Yugyeom left three hours ago when his morning shift ended, and Mark only has another hour-and-a-half to go. It’s fine. He’s fine.

So is Jackson when the man steps inside after another twenty minutes. His faithful bag is slung over his shoulder, a dark green sweater underneath his jeans jacket this time. Mark zones out from the order the woman in front of him is giving, mind already working on 30% capacity and unable to handle anything else besides Jackson’s perfection. He blinks back to her when she clears her throat, clearly annoyed.

“I’m sorry,” he offers as courteous as he can, “could you repeat that, please.”

She rattles it off again with a dark look, then sticks around to watch him make it even though he told her he’d bring it over. She probably thinks he’s new here with how much he’s shaking, but Mark doesn’t think she’ll react any better when he tells her it’s because he’s burning up like an active volcano. He’s been making sure to keep his germs away from people’s drinks, but even he knows he’s being selfish in staying simply to see a guy he can’t ever ask out anyway.

So, turns out that Yugyeom might have had a point with the whole melodramatic thing.

He hands the drink over with a polite stretch of his lips and receives a curt nod, then turns around with his first real smile of the day.

Jackson.

The man snaps his head back from something and smiles when Mark walks over. It slowly turns into a frown.

“Are you okay?” he says instead of his usual greeting, but Mark waves off his concern despite the fever-sweat on his back.

“I’m fine, just didn’t sleep well last night.” He grabs a medium cup. “Orange juice?” he guesses because he’s figured out that’s Jackson’s favorite.

The other still frowns, then it slowly fades and he nods. “Yeah, thank you.”

Mark shoots him another grin, energized by Jackson’s mere presence. He’s got it _bad._ The cup is pushed underneath the fresh-juice machine, a single press of the button bringing it to life with a gurgling whine. He turns back to smile at Jackson, inhibitions non-existent while his brain is prioritizing standing up straight.

Jackson smiles carefully, shuffling in place. “What?”

“Nothing,” Mark grins. He holds the filled cup with semi-steady hands, doing an internal victory dance when he can hand it over without dropping it. He puts the packaged straw on top, shaking his head when Jackson unearths his wallet.

“It’s on the house,” he beams at him, then backtracks just a tiny bit when Jackson’s uncomfortable blush comes back. Right, the man is very much in a relationship. “It’s a ploy,” he whispers, smile only slightly strained. “We offer free drinks to our regulars every now and again to make sure they keep coming back.”

Jackson smiles softly, shaking his head. “Thank you.”

Mark is saved by his own brilliance, though he waves the other off with another smile. Fevers are weird. _Mark’s_ weird. But Jackson, though … Jackson is perfect.

The fact Jackson stays for the last hour of Mark’s shift means he zones out more than he works, eyes staring with what he can only guess is a loving look at Jackson’s side-profile. The amount of times Jackson has turned his head and caught Mark is slowly crawling into the double digits, though the embarrassment is burned out by his fever time and time again. Mark almost enjoys having it until Seokjin shoos him out from behind the counter (him having the evening shift together with a late Namjoon) and Mark has to walk into the back and change out of his apron and into his jacket. It feels like so much more work than usual, his hands shaking non-stop when he pops back out and waves Seokjin a friendly goodbye.

The other frowns at him, but Mark makes sure he’s away from the counter before the man’s big brother instincts can kick in. It’s a clean get-away, or it was, until a man moves his chair back to stand up the exact moment Mark is trying to slip past, the shop filling up in the later hours, and Mark’s brain decides it’s done with this whole balance thing.

The chair hits him in the thigh, making him stumble right as the whole restaurant does a slow sway. Slamming his eyes shut alleviates some of the nausea but doesn’t help him figure out where the fuck his wobbly legs are going. He sort of falls into someone, hearing a surprised gasp and guessing from the pitch that it’s a woman.

“Sorry,” he mutters, a concerned shout of ‘Mark!’ behind him confirming that Seokjin has seen it all. With effort, he squints at the wide-eyed woman he just bumped into, forgoing an apologetic bow and simply sending her a small smile. She blinks at him. Well, he tried.

The door seems very far, at least five steps, and Mark’s swaying on his feet because his fever is having a field-day with his small moment of disorientation. It seems likely he’ll end up on the floor unless Seokjin develops teleportation powers or someone else takes pity on him. When the hand closes around his upper arm, an arm shooting out across his back, Mark isn’t entirely sure which one happened. He supposes he’ll have to open his eyes and see. A monumental task at the moment, but Mark’s extremely curious.

“It’s okay,” the voice of an angel whispers in his ear just as he opens his eyes and determines he’s hallucinating. “I’ve got you, just walk slow.”

He does, too dumbfounded to even question it when he’s eventually lowered into an empty chair. By Jackson. Mark blinks up when he’s sitting down, then blinks down when Jackson crouches in front of him, one hand coming up to rest against Mark’s forehead. The other even carefully brushes Mark’s wayward curls away, his expression falling when Mark’s skin no doubt sears into his hand.

“You’ve got a fever,” Jackson says softly, a little grouchy.

Mark shrugs, already aware. Then he looks at Jackson some more, still amazed the other came up to catch him. The man must have better things to do than keep random baristas from meeting the floor. “Thank you,” he tells him belatedly.

Jackson sighs, eyes scrunched in worry. “What are you doing working like this?”

“What he said,” a sharp voice cuts in and Mark groans, though he knows better than to fight the hand slapping against his brow. He pouts because Jackson’s touch was so much better and gives Seokjin the stink-eye because of it. “Home,” the older orders with a stern look. “Bed. _Soup._ Order some if you don’t have any.”

Mark gives him a lazy salute, his sass ruined by a heavy shiver running down his spine. Seokjin’s expression sours further until Jackson jumps into the role of savior once again.

“I could take him home,” he offers cautiously, speaking to Seokjin.

Expecting the other to vehemently deny Mark being brought home by a virtual stranger, Mark stares in shock when Seokjin pats Jackson’s shoulder with a grateful nod, then turns his patented mom-look on Mark. “Bed. Soup.”

He’s gone before Mark can roll his eyes at him, leaving him alone with Jackson once again. Jackson whom Seokjin trusts. Mark blinks at the man. “You know Seokjin?”

“Huh?” Jackson looks up from where he’d been slinging his bag over his shoulder, having to move carefully to avoid hitting anyone over the head. It’s getting crowded for real. Then he smiles. “I’ve been friends with Namjoon for a while, it’s how I got to know this place. Seokjin simply came as a package-deal.”

_Ah._ Mark nods knowingly, aware of the long-standing tension of the Namjin. “They really need to start dating,” he comments offhandedly, Jackson chuckling as he comes up beside him.

“Yeah, they should.”

Then Mark’s brain falls silent because Jackson grabs his right arm, slinging it over his shoulder, then hoists Mark out of his seat like it’s nothing. Now, Mark’s aware he’s not the biggest guy, but he’s by no means _that_ light. “You’re strong,” he blurts out, extra heat burning his cheeks as a result.

Jackson chuckles next to him, his arm steady and strong across Mark’s back, left hand curled around Mark’s waist. The points of contact keep stealing Mark’s attention away from walking and he needs Jackson so much more than he thought he did. Outside is a breath of fresh air, though Mark shivers even as he smiles. Jackson keeps tugging him along, dodging people on the sidewalk as they move towards a white car parked a little further down.

Mark frowns as he connects dots at a snail’s pace. “You drive here?”

“Yup,” Jackson grunts, a steady and warm presence against Mark’s side. “How else would I get here?”

Mark shrugs as well as he’s able, digging his fingers into Jackson’s jacket when they need to swerve out of the way of a businessman. Then they’re at the car and Mark’s thoughts are still lagging. “Figured you worked nearby.”

“No,” Jackson engages him as they carefully scoot past the front of the car, and the back of another, to presumably drop Mark in the passenger seat. “I work more on the other side of town, near the financial district.

Mark hums, trying his best to sound as interested as he normally is. He’s letting Jackson lead at this point, preferring to close his eyes instead of watching the world turn slowly round and round. Whatever had been keeping him going has disappeared, leaving nothing but trembling limbs and an aching head. Without Jackson to check for traffic and guide him in, Mark’s sure he would’ve either ended up on someone’s windshield or ass-first on the asphalt.

But, despite being zero help, Jackson carefully tucks Mark into his car, easing the door closed with a soft click. Mark kind of wants to hug him for that, but then, Mark kind of wants to hug him period and has a very hard time forgetting the half-hug that even got them here. He opens his eyes to slits when Jackson opens the driver’s side door, dropping into the seat and once again carefully closing the door. That’s when it fully hits Mark that he’s in Jackson’s car, is currently smelling the hints of Jackson’s earthy perfume, and, as a weight leans over him, is being buckled in by Jackson himself.

Mark’s brain truly is fever-fried because he’s forgetting the obvious. “Thank you for helping me,” he tells Jackson still with his eyes closed. “I really appreciate it.” He wants to look at Jackson, but his neck aches and energy is a thing of the past, not to mention the fear that if he opens his eyes and sees the world spinning he might barf all over Jackson’s car. Fever or no fever, Mark knows that’s just rude.

“I’m just glad I can help,” Jackson answers softly. A hand sneaks back onto Mark’s forehead and he swallows a content sigh. Jackson makes a strangled sound. “Maybe I should take you to a doctor?”

“No,” Mark mumbles, unable to keep from frowning when Jackson takes his hand back. “Just home, please.”

“Are you sure?” Jackson starts the engine, still sounding doubtful.

Mark smiles at the care he hears, a flash of pain in his chest at knowing the other is just being nice, nothing more. “It’s okay,” he assures him. “I just need sleep and an Advil.”

Jackson stays silent, then sighs. “Okay, alright. Where do you live?”

After he gives the address, Jackson slowly pulls into traffic and Mark honestly remembers very little of what happens after. He knows it’s really nice to sit down with his eyes closed, Jackson’s soft breathing next to him as the man takes him home.

Then he’s out.

* * *

There’s someone busying themselves in Mark’s kitchen, plates clinking and the smell of pancakes drifting into his bedroom, which causes a second of full-blown panic that snaps Mark into being awake before he realizes _who_ it is. Vague memories from last night trickle in, Jackson driving him, then _carrying him_ , then tucking him into bed. Mark stares at his grey ceiling, simply breathes and stares, while he wonders if he should be grateful or really fucking embarrassed. Jackson had to _carry him up_. Then he goes impressed because that’s not an easy feat. Then he’s embarrassed again.

Jackson is so damn perfect and Mark’s just really _not_.

His limbs still shake when he gets up, head pounding but no longer to the point of painfully unbearable. A glance at his phone reveals it to be eight in the morning, meaning he should be at work in two hours.

Not happening.

With a lot of squinting, he locates Himchan’s number, only to realize he already has a message saying not to come in. In fact, Himchan orders him to take the rest of the week, and to message him should he need longer. Mark smiles. _Seokjin._ He shoots both men a thank you, not able to handle the down-turned light of his screen any longer than that. He puts his phone back on his bedside table, then realizes he’s still in the same clothes as yesterday, sans his jacket, shoes and socks.

Jackson.

Mark sags, hanging his head before he pulls in a breath and stands up. One problem dealt with, one more to go. The sounds of cooking becomes louder as he opens the bedroom door, snagging a large hoodie from a pile in his closet and burrowing into it. He’s not cold per-se, but a lingering clamminess resides on his skin. He pads to the kitchen at the front of his apartment, glad the world stays right where it is and yesterday’s nausea is missing. The aroma hanging in the hallway is enticing, enough for his stomach to rumble once he steps through the doorway and sees a small stack of pancakes on a plate on the counter. Jackson is standing with his back to him and Mark softly clears his throat.

The man whirls, spatula still in hand and eyes wide. For a second it looks like he might try to charge Mark with the kitchen utensil, then he sags. “You scared me,” he huffs, putting a hand over his heart. He leans on the counter, another pancake sizzling in the pan next to him. Jackson is also still in his clothes from yesterday, his green sweater a little rumpled and hair standing on end at the back. It makes him even more adorable than usual, Mark’s heart thumping fast in his chest. It reminds him of why he even interrupted Jackson in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” he says earnestly, only to receive a look of confusion.

“For what?” Jackson turns the heat down, putting the spatula on the counter.

Mark shrugs. “Just now,” he grimaces, “yesterday. Just, everything.” He holds up a hand before Jackson can protest, a small shiver starting in his chest. “I’m also grateful, for everything,” he smiles at the pancakes, “but you really don’t have to make me breakfast. You’ve done way too much already.”

“But it’s okay, I want to help,” Jackson says softly, taking a step forward. He’s biting his lip, sweater a little too big and making him look younger even though Mark now knows about the strength hiding in those sleeves. He smiles.

“I know, and you did. But I don’t want to make Jaebeom worry, or like, give him the wrong impression.”

It hurts to say it, to confess out loud what he’s known all along, namely that Jackson is much too good and much too pure (he stayed to take care of Mark, even made him breakfast), to ever be his because Jackson is already very much _taken_. By Jaebeom. Who is nice and Mark doesn’t actually want to piss off, nor does he want Jackson to do anything more than this, already half convinced the other is an actual angel.

“Jaebeom?” Jackson pulls a confused face. “Why would Jaebeom get a wrong impression?”

Mark frowns. Surely Jackson isn’t this naïve. “You stayed the night at my place,” he offers gently, sort of hoping Jackson will get the hint soon because his left leg is starting to protest all this standing up.

Jackson nods, exaggeratedly. “Yes. Because you had a 40,2 fever and I wasn’t about to leave you alone with that.” He frowns. “Jaebeom would have done the same thing. Anyone would’ve.”

Mark groans because no, they really wouldn’t have. It only serves to strengthen his view about Jackson needing protection, the man with his fluffy brown hair, large eyes and heart as big as the damn pacific much too good to be alone in this world.

Which, you know, he’s not. Because he has a boyfriend.

“Jackson,” he starts wearily, rubbing his forehead with his eyes closed as his headache begins to spike. “I really think you should leave before Jaebeom thinks you cheated on him, okay?”

The bomb drops and Jackson stays silent, Mark choosing to keep his eyes closed. He’s said it, it’s out there, and now Jackson will probably hate him, but Mark reminds himself he’s doing this for _Jackson_ , and quite possibly himself because he’s falling way too much for the gorgeous man currently making pancakes in his kitchen. Jackson is too much for Mark to stay away from, so maybe he needs to make the other stay away from him. He hates it.

“Mark,” Jackson’s voice cuts in, though it’s nowhere near as furious as Mark had feared. In fact, it sounds amused. Mark opens his eyes and frowns, feeling ridiculed when he catches Jackson suppressing a smile. The other lets out a disbelieving huff. “Do you think me and Jaebeom are in a relationship?”

“Yes,” he answers honestly, then recognizes the way the question is asked and blinks. “Wait, you’re not?”

Now Jackson breaks out into giggles, leaning on the counter beside him. “Me and JB,” he shakes his head, smile wide on his face. “Oh my- that’s classic!”

“Hey,” Mark grouches even as he collapses against the doorframe in the strangest combination of relieved and petulant. “You’re always going on dates with him. You even order for him!”

Jackson shakes more, hiding his face behind a hand as full-blown laughter comes out. “Dates!” he wheezes. “You actually thought those were _dates!”_

“Yes,” Mark says loud, failing to be serious when a laugh sneaks into his voice, lips turning up at Jackson’s mirth. There’s something intoxicating about the other laughing without boundaries, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut in joy. Mark drinks it in, forgetting for a small moment that he’s ill and shaking and sticky with the remnants of a fever-sweat. All he sees and hears is Jackson, the sudden knowledge that this man is very much single and very much making him breakfast settling in his head. A wondrous smile slips onto his face as he watches Jackson slowly calm down. “Yeah, I guess I did,” Mark mumbles.

Jackson grins at him, his bangs going into further disarray when he runs a hand through them. It looks amazing on him. “JB- I mean, Jaebeom is engaged to Jinyoung,” he tells Mark with a blinding smile. “And either one of them will _end me_ if I ever try to put the hots on the other. Besides, they have Youngjae,” his eyes go wide, expression pouty, “I would _never_ hurt my little nephew like that.”

The doorframe offers little comfort as Mark hangs his head, smile wide on his face at his own idiocy. The puzzle finally slots together, pieces rearranging to Mark’s utter embarrassment. “I’m so sorry,” he groans.

Jackson takes it with a shrug, still smiling. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you didn’t think I was dating BamBam.”

“Why?” Mark wonders, not sure what’s so bad about the thin boy other than the age difference. Jackson gawks at him, then bursts out laughing all over again, doubling over as he manages.

“BamBam’s my younger brother!”

And yeah, Mark should have paid more attention to the people Jackson came in with, instead of simply staring at Jackson’s face.

(Not that he ever stops.)


End file.
